Flora McIvor Page 4

  ‘Look at this,’ cried Waverley, ‘throwing a letter onto the table. ‘Three days’ notice revoking my leave. Sent more than two weeks ago. What sort of treatment is that from a fellow officer?’

  ‘My dear Waverley,’ added Fergus, ‘someone is determined on your disgrace. Look.’

  He passed over the London paper which reported Waverley’s demotion from his captaincy following absence without leave.

  ‘What can I do? My commanding officer has not even waited on reply. It is so dishonourable and unfair.’ He seemed on the verge of tears.

  ‘It is their fear of rebellion, Waverley. You must write resigning your commission, but clearly marking the date you first received this letter.’

  ‘You are right, Fergus.’

  ‘But if I were you, I would revenge myself on unjust authority by renouncing allegiance to the House of Hanover. This is a clear signal for action.’ Fergus picked up a cockade and offered it to Waverley. ‘Change your colours.’

  The now former officer took off his bonnet and removed the regimental plume that he wore pinned at the front. ‘The king who gave me this badge has himself removed it, in a way that leaves me little reason to regret his service. Miss McIvor, will you attach a new cockade to my hat?’

  ‘No, Mr Waverley, I cannot sew such favours on the impulse of a moment. Not until you have time to reflect more carefully on this choice.’

  ‘Miss McIvor does not think this soldier worthy of this favour or of her cause?’

  ‘Not at all,’ responded Flora soothingly, ‘why would I refuse my brother’s friend when I am enlisting every man of honour in the cause? But you, Mr Waverley, are far from home and in danger of making a life or death decision in a mood of resentment. You must pause before plunging into this enterprise.’

  Fergus had to turn away to bite back his furious retort. Waverley stood nonplussed and uncertain.

  ‘Well, sister, I must leave you to your new role as mediator between the Elector of Hanover and the subjects of your loyal sovereign and benefactor.’

  Then he stalked out, and Waverley sank gratefully into a chair.

  ‘Please forgive me. I did not mean to cause any…’

  ‘My brother is unjust. He can bear no obstacle that interrupts or thwarts his zeal.’

  ‘Do you not share his faith?’

  ‘If anything mine is greater, if that is possible.’ Flora looked away, as if considering some further confession, then recalled herself. ‘Though I am not caught up like him in the urgency of military preparations. He is driven and impatient. But a true and just cause, Mr Waverley, can only be advanced by true and just means. So you must make your own decision calmly with proper time to reflect.’

  ‘Miss McIvor, what would I do without you? You are my true monitor and guardian… Could I hope, could I dare to think that you could be an affectionate friend, a companion to redeem my errors and guide my future life?’

  During this speech Waverley had taken hold of Flora’s hand, which was firmly withdrawn.

  ‘I fear I am a creature of unstable imagination, and not of reason, swayed by the latest emotion.’ His hand was reaching out again.

  ‘Sir, you are allowing your joy at escaping the recruiting officer to overcome you.’

  ‘Flora, you cannot mistake the meaning of my feelings. Allow me to speak to your brother –’

  ‘Not for the world, Mr Waverley.’

  ‘Is there some fatal bar – are your emotions pledged elsewhere?’

  ‘I have not considered anyone with reference to this subject.’

  ‘Give me time for us to become better known to each other.’

  ‘Your nature is open for all to see, Mr Waverley. You must be satisfied with my resolution.’

  To this, the aspiring suitor had no answer, and silence reigned.

  Flora had stood up to go when Fergus barged into the interview in its dying moments.

  ‘Come down to the courtyard, and you’ll see a sight worth all he tirades of your Romances. A hundred firelocks and as many broadswords, sent by our friends, and as many stout fellows almost fighting to possess them. What ails you, Waverley? Anyone would say you’d had the evil eye put on you. Never mind my sister, Edward, for the wisest of her sex are fools in the main business of life.’

  ‘On the contrary, your sister is only too reasonable.’

  ‘Enough, I vouch Flora will be as unreasonable as any by tomorrow. Now come and see these weapons.’

  The disconsolate Waverley hobbled out in Fergus’ wake, leaving Flora tight lipped and in possession of the field.

  The next few days continued under uneasy truce. More messengers arrived at Castle McIvor and further consignments of weapons. There was open speculation that Prince Charles Edward had already landed in the Western Isles of Scotland, and that a French invasion was expected hourly on the southern coast of England.

  Then a messenger arrived from Tullyveolan, carrying a letter from Rose Bradwardine. It was a warning. Her father the Baron had left with some retainers to join the Jacobite muster, and the house had been occupied by Government troops with a warrant to arrest Waverley. He was touched by Rose’s concern for his safety even in the midst of her own troubles. This prompted the decision he had been avoiding since his rejection by Flora.

  ‘I must leave for Edinburgh to seek out some of my family’s connections, and clear myself of any military wrongdoing. Then I will return to assist Rose at Tullyveolan in her father’s absence.’

  ‘A wise and kind resolution,’ acknowledged Flora immediately.

  ‘You’re running your head into the lion’s mouth,’ countered her brother, ‘for you don’t understand the severity of a government under threat. I will have to rescue you from some dungeon in Stirling or Edinburgh Castle.’

  ‘My innocence and my rank will be sufficient protection.’

  ‘The friends you count on may be taken up with their own affairs in such a crisis. Take the plaid, I beg you, and stay here amidst the mist and crows, for the bravest cause in which sword was ever drawn.’

  ‘I must be excused, dear Fergus, and run my own risk.’

  ‘You are determined. Well, you will have the brown mare to ride safely on, and the protection of McIvor as far as my word is law.’

  ‘I thank you for your generosity. I’ll go and pack my things.’

  Waverley was moving more nimbly now though still with the aid of a stick.

  ‘He’s a fool.’

  ‘Is he really in such danger?’ asked Flora anxiously.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll put Donald Lean’s bloodhounds on his scent. I have a feeling that we have not seen the last of your young gallant.’

  2

  FLORA STOOD AT The window looking down the avenue of trees. It was cold in the room though the fire had already been lit. A pale winter sun was rising over the fields beyond the gates, and lighting up the bare garden ground.

  It was two months since Flora had last stayed at Bannockburn House, on the army’s journey south. But it felt more like two years. So much had happened. She and Rose had been guests then of the laird Hugh Paterson, not of his niece, Clementina. Strange to find another Clementina here in Scotland, named for Flora’s long dead benefactress. Clementina’s father, John Walkinshaw, had rescued the Sobieski princess in Poland and brought her across Europe to marry James the rightful Stuart king of Scotland, England and Ireland.

  This time though there was something more familiar to Flora in her surroundings. She was becoming accustomed to the domestic solidity of Scotland’s buildings and landscape. The house was a Scots laird’s substitute for the castles of old. Spacious yet intimate, the sturdy native stones were set to good effect within the folds of valleys, woods and open fields quite unlike the sweeping heights in which Castle McIvor sat like a nesting eagle. Moreover the compact living quarters were surrounded by gardens. Despite the wintry conditions Flora could see the shapes of fruit trees, shrubberies, and herb beds.

  Flora was continually amazed by the
open changing light. Whatever the weather, in Lowlands or Highlands, you could watch the atmosphere shifting over distant hills and before your eyes. The skies were always big and flowing. In Italy, despite the blazing suns of summer, Flora had lived enclosed at Palazzo Muti, in the Convent, and then again back in service in the shuttered rooms of that narrow overshadowed mansion in the cramped street of Rome. As she looked, sunlight was dispersing flimsy mists from the lower ground and starting a new day.

  Flora sighed as she turned back towards the fire pulling the shawl tighter round her shoulders. Rose would appear soon and then later Clementina. Breakfast would be served next door, thick oatmeal porridge with dried fruits, tea, fresh bannocks, butter and honey. What would the prince’s army be eating today in England, camped perhaps on open ground, exposed to frost and snow? Would there be any news from the south? Had they evaded Wade’s troops, after the capture of Carlisle? Had they passed Manchester on the road to London, or would Cumberland’s forces block their progress?

  Waiting for news of other places and of someone else’s actions seemed to be the confining fate of women. And Flora resented the restriction. Fortunately Rose arrived to dispel her mood. Tall and willowy with fair colouring, shining cheeks and ready blushes Rose dispensed goodwill with easy naturalness. She stooped to kiss Flora and give her a morning hug.

  ‘Ugh it is cold. How do you always manage to be up first? Let’s go to breakfast now. It could be ages before Clementina comes.’

  The morning parlour was a cosy corner room, and soon Flora and Rose were comfortably settled round a small table laden with bowls, cups and jugs. Within a few minutes Rose made her first mention that day of Edward Waverley.

  ‘I hope Waverley is wearing the warm trews and his double breasted jacket. It was very generous of him to serve as a volunteer in Fergus’ regiment, but it means he will be travelling on foot and he cannot have been used to walking all the time as a boy. Is it not more dangerous on foot as well?’

  ‘Your father’s cavalry troop is often in danger, scouting ahead or hurrying to a danger spot where there has been some surprise attack.’

  ‘That is true, God preserve him, but my dear father is bred to it. He has been a soldier all his days. He lives and breathes campaigns.’

  Including long past and forgotten ones thought Flora. The Baron was a tall upright figure whose conversation was a perpetual catalogue of military history, classical allusions and chivalric etiquette. Had it not been for his proven skill and experience in the field, the old cavalier might have become the object of humour, though few would have risked offending the Baron to his face, for he loved nothing better than rapiers drawn on some point of honour.

  ‘Waverley was a serving officer too before declaring for the prince.’

  ‘Yes, he has come home to his true loyalty, Flora. His aunt and uncle are very proud of their nephew, though his father as you know has been a political trimmer.’

  ‘I understand that Waverley is the heir to his uncle’s title and estate.’

  ‘If our king is restored then good fortune should be his.’

  Flora smiled inwardly at Rose’s unguarded affection. She had no idea of Waverley’s declaration of love at Castle McIvor. Nor, apart from some initial embarrassment, had Waverley shown any hint of his earlier suit, when he had arrived at the prince’s newly captured headquarters in Edinburgh. Having set out for Scotland’s capital as a suspect keen to clear his Hanoverian name, Waverley had been arrested by a magistrate and dispatched for trial. Next he had been freed in an ambush, almost certainly contrived by Donald Lean, and then captured once more, this time by a troop of volunteers on their way to join the Jacobite army.

  Needless to say, on arrival in Edinburgh, Waverley had been embraced by Fergus like a long lost brother, and presented immediately to the prince. Aware of the importance of English supporters, Charles had warmly welcomed the young heir to Waverly Honour without presuming on his personal loyalty. This instantly had the desired effect. Waverley swore his allegiance on the spot and, tactfully refusing the offer of a commission, volunteered to serve with Fergus. A grateful Charles provided Waverley with weapons suitable to his status, and before the day was out Fergus had the tall Englishman fully dressed and equipped as a Highland gentleman at arms.

  Clementina came in rubbing her eyes but full of morning brio. She called the company, reduced as it was, to order.

  ‘So, what will His Majesty do today, ladies? Inspect the troops camping in the Royal Park, then consult his Council, have dinner, and next – serious business of the day – command a ball at Holyrood, followed by supper. Every loyal lady of Edinburgh will be there, not to mention all the wives and sweethearts of his followers who have hurried to the capital filling every lodging in Auld Reekie. What shall we wear to rout them all?’

  She was irresistible in this mood, conjuring the heady weeks of August and September back into life. It was for those days of royal restoration, in the social whirl of the capital, that Clementina had been born. The spark lit up her sharp face with its upturned nose and luminous brown eyes beneath the curls. Her skin was slightly freckled and vivacious. Was she dark or fair? It did not matter, since Clementina slipped between conventions taking everyone with her in a breathless rush. There was though no mistaking her height and will to lead.

  ‘Enough, enough, sit down and eat something and your brain will settle,’ chided Flora.

  The new arrival hugged both of her friends and set to work on a hearty breakfast.

  ‘It’s a fine day despite the season,’ she munched, ‘shall we take a walk?’

  ‘I would rather keep indoors,’ ventured Rose.

  ‘Why? The servants will be here if any message arrives.’

  ‘Still, I would like to wait, and write some letters. To my father.’

  ‘Of course, Rose,’ said Flora, ‘you must have peace to write. Clementina will drag me off into the country, whatever the risk. We may be seized by some sally from the castle garrison, but I am game to explore, and she cannot be contained.’

  So the day’s schedule was agreed, though the three young women were all in their own ways marking time, waiting on news that might make or break their whole lives. Despite her father’s resolute commitment to the cause, Rose’s feelings were more personal than political. Flora’s convictions overrode or at least directed her emotions. Clementina was a natural gambler, whose whole life had been caught up in the Stuart enterprise. She might appear mercurial and unpredictable, but there was unwavering ardour beneath her surface moods. She played to win.

  The wind had freshened by the time Flora and Clementina headed out on foot, refusing any escort. They went down the tree lined avenue and out of the gates into an area of woodland. Climbing through the trees they emerged on a ridge into a blast of cold air, which also had the effect of clearing the view. On their right lay the village of Bannockburn straggling towards the defile through which that small river ran. Due north, Stirling Castle peaked out above succeeding ridges. To the north east the Ochil Hills rose bluntly from the Carse of Stirling, already topped with a dusting of white snow.

  ‘That is the Borestone, where Robert the Bruce’s army mustered.’ Clementina pointed northwest towards a low hill. ‘It’s near the Milton of St Ninians, not Bannockburn. But people here say the battle was fought there, beyond the village on level ground between the Bannock and the Pelham Burns.’

  ‘Where is the Sheriffmuir?’

  ‘There,’ Clementina’s long arm shot out again, ‘you can see the Ochils level down into the muirland.’

  ‘My father fought at Sherriffmuir. I never thought I would see the place for myself.’

  ‘This is the place for battles, Flora. You can’t traverse Scotland without coming by Stirling.’

  ‘And the Castle is still in enemy hands.’

  ‘For now. Besieging castles is a long business.’

  ‘And the prince needs quick victories, to follow Prestonpans.’

  ‘I can’t believe I miss
ed it,’ complained Clementina. ‘Tell me what it was like.’

  ‘I told you, several times.’

  ‘Tell me again.’

  ‘It wasn’t pleasant, Clementina. Even though we could see the tactics spread out beneath us. When the Jacobite troops found their way through the marsh and formed up, Cope’s army had to turn and regroup. You could see they were unsettled, even at that distance. And then the Highlanders charged like a rushing wave – we could hear the yells as loud as the gunfire. The red ranks broke and fled within minutes.’

  ‘No English army can face a Highland charge. That is our secret weapon!’

  ‘The English troops were piling into the defiles desperately trying to get away, like sheep driven by wolves. The prince and his officers rode out to restrain the clansmen, ensuring quarter for the wounded and the prisoners. It could have been a shambles, Clementina, for I must confess that our Highlanders have a bloodlust when the heat of battle rises in them.’

  ‘But it was the decisive victory, Flora, unexpected and total. It turned the tables, when everyone said the prince was a hopeless adventurer.’

  ‘Maybe. Yet look at these villages and farms. This is a different Scotland, Clementina, from the clan territories. Do they support a Stuart restoration?’

  ‘When we win, they might. But it’s true, the majority are not Jacobite in the Lowlands, apart from some loyal families. It is because of religion. They see Charles as a Papist threatening their Presbyterian kirks and schools. Aye and their Presbyterian pockets. That really is a matter of godliness.’ Clementina’s irony dissolved into giggles. ‘The Minster at St Ninian’s came to see Uncle Hugh before he left, to deliver a rebuke on the ungodly disturbance of trade by heathen Jacobites.’

  ‘What did your Uncle say?’

  ‘He said, “Aye, Minister, it may be a judgement on our backsliding.” That dried the Reverend up as he couldn’t guess what was meant. Sanctimonious prig. No nation could thrive with a religion like that.’

  ‘So must the prince restore Catholicism?’

  ‘Speak it not in Gath! We have the perfect compromise in the Episcopal faith, Flora. Protestant yet Christian, and acceptable to England. The prince is no fool.’